The emergency lights in the underground tunnel flickered like dying fireflies as Nakato's team sprinted through the collapsing passage. Behind them, the thunderous roar of demolition charges shook the walls, sending chunks of concrete raining down.
"Move!" Ryujin barked, shoving Daisuke ahead as a steel support beam crashed where he'd been standing.
Nakato's lungs burned as he ran, the regulator on his wrist flashing urgent crimson warnings. The acrid taste of explosives clung to his tongue, mixing with the metallic tang of blood from where a ricocheting shard had grazed his cheek.
Hinako suddenly skidded to a stop ahead, her daggers flashing up in a defensive cross. "Dead end!"
The tunnel terminated at a rusted maintenance door sealed with fresh Kage Corps security runes. Daisuke immediately pressed his palm against the electronic lock, his hacking device whirring.
"They're jamming us!" Sweat dripped from his nose onto the display. "This isn't just a containment protocol—someone's actively hunting us!"
Another explosion rocked the tunnel, closer this time. The ceiling above Nakato cracked like eggshell, revealing the twisted rebar within. Dust rained down as he pressed his flaming palm against the door's seal.
"Stand back."
Black fire roared from his fingertips, melting through the reinforced hinges. The metal glowed orange before bursting inward with a kick from Ryujin.
They spilled into a derelict subway station frozen in time—advertisements from fifteen years ago still clung to the walls, their colors faded. Nakato's boot kicked an old newspaper headline:
**"LAB EXPLOSION CLAIMS 47 - PHOENIX PROJECT SCRAPPED"**
A date circled in red ink. The day his parents disappeared.
Daisuke's device suddenly pinged. "Got a signal! There's an access shaft behind that vending machine that leads—"
A gunshot rang out.
The bullet would have taken Daisuke between the eyes if Ryujin hadn't yanked him down. Instead, it shattered the ancient vending machine's glass, sending shards spraying.
"Ambush!" Hinako spun, daggers deflecting two more shots before diving behind a ticket counter.
Nakato rolled behind a support pillar as more gunfire erupted. Not from cultists—these were Kage Corps issue pulse rifles. Through the smoke, he counted six armored figures advancing in perfect formation, their visors glowing the cold blue of official execution units.
"Black Ops squad," Ryujin growled, pressing against the pillar beside Nakato. His sword hummed with restrained energy. "Director's personal wetwork team."
Nakato's flames coiled around his fists. "Why would the Director want us dead?"
"Not us." Ryujin's golden eyes flicked to the research drive in Hinako's belt. "That."
A synthesized voice boomed through the station: **"Surrender the Phoenix data. This is your only warning."**
Hinako bared her teeth. "Come take it, you corporate dogs!"
The squad leader gestured. Two operatives detached, moving to flank while the others laid down suppressing fire. Nakato felt the heat of plasma rounds searing the air past his face.
Daisuke frantically tapped at his device. "I can override the lighting systems—give us ten seconds of darkness!"
"Do it," Ryujin ordered. "Nakato, when it drops—"
"I know."
The station plunged into blackness as Daisuke's hack took effect. Nakato's regulator flared crimson as he unleashed a controlled inferno along the ceiling, creating a firewall between them and the shooters.
"Go!"
They ran for the access shaft, Ryujin covering their retreat with wide arcing slashes that sent shockwaves through the ground. Just as they reached the ladder, the squad leader broke through the flames, his armor smoking but operational.
**"Terminate with extreme prejudice."**
The grenade landed at Nakato's feet with a metallic clink.
Time seemed to slow. Hinako was halfway up the ladder. Daisuke frozen in terror above her. Ryujin too far to intervene.
Nakato's flames reacted before his mind could.
A concentrated burst of black fire engulfed the grenade in a sphere of annihilation. The explosion still sent him flying, but the flames absorbed the worst of the blast. He crashed against the ladder, ribs screaming in protest.
Strong hands hauled him upward. Ryujin's face was unreadable as he practically threw Nakato up the shaft. "Move!"
They emerged onto a rooftop as dawn painted Tokyo's skyline in hues of blood and gold. Distant sirens wailed, but no enforcement drones came their way.
"They're containing the narrative," Daisuke panted, collapsing against a vent. "No witnesses."
Hinako pried open the research drive with one dagger tip. "Then let's see what's worth killing for."
The holographic display flickered to life, showing not just Kazuo's notes, but older files—decades of research. Nakato's breath caught as his father's face appeared in a dated video log.
**"Phoenix Log #227. The Eclipse isn't a cult—it's a failsafe."** Akira Mazui looked exhausted, his lab coat stained. **"When we discovered Shadowborn were created, not born, we—"**
The video cut to security footage: a younger Ryujin strapped to a medical table, screaming as black veins crawled up his neck.
**"Subject R shows unprecedented compatibility with the Mazui strain. If we can stabilize the gene splicing—"**
Hinako sucked in a sharp breath. "They made you. Both of you."
Nakato's head snapped toward Ryujin. The veteran hunter's expression had gone stony.
"Not made." Ryujin tapped the brand under his sleeve—the black sun mark. "Selected. The first successful hybrid."
Daisuke zoomed in on a DNA comparison chart. "Oh god. Nakato, you're not just Akira's son—you're the only natural born Shadowborn. The template they used to create all the others."
The pieces clicked together with terrible clarity. The regulator's blood crest alerts. The Titan recognizing him. Why his flames were different.
Hinako suddenly grabbed Nakato's wrist, her fingers pressing against his pulse point. "That's why the Director wants you dead. You're living proof the Kage Corps created the Beast crisis."
A shadow passed over them. The team looked up to see a familiar silver-haired figure standing atop a nearby antenna array, his coat flapping in the wind.
"Well done," said the man who'd trained them all. Director Kuroto's smile didn't reach his cold eyes. "Now hand over the boy before this gets messy."
Behind him, twelve Black Ops snipers took position on surrounding rooftops, their rifles humming to life.